


Pillow Talk

by withoutaplease



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and reader, both from out of town and only there one night, meet as strangers in a hotel bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk

               You take a sip of the martini that the pretty, petite bartender has just set down on the bar in front of you, your second of the night, and take a quick scan around the room. It’s an upscale hotel and a classy bar, all rich mahogany and leather sofas and investment bankers towing bejewelled eye candy around on their arms. It isn’t at all the type of place where one would expect to meet a hunter, and that’s exactly the reason you chose it. You are dressed to blend in, and, in this place, that means a tiny black skirt, little red heels, and diamonds (or a reasonable facsimile) dangling at your ears and throat. The sultry ambient music, electronic with a throbbing beat, drowns out the chatter of the tipsy corporate law associate seated next to you. You don’t mind that a bit. He’s handsome, you suppose, but he’s hardly your type even if you were interested, and he seems to be having difficulty differentiating your eyes from your cleavage as he prattles on. You turn your attention reluctantly back to him, your scan of the crowd unfruitful.

               “Really?” you say, as if whatever he’s just said is the most intriguing thing you’ve ever heard.

               “Well,” he says, adjusting his necktie and assuming a false air of modesty. “It isn’t _technically_ a private island, but it’s the only residential villa on the entire northern edge of the coast.”

               “Sounds like paradise,” you respond, taking another long sip of your cocktail and starting to feel restless.

               “It is if you’ve got someone to share it with,” the associate says meaningfully, and you smile indulgently at him, certain he thinks he’s being smooth.

               You look around again, beginning to consider escape routes, and that’s when you see him stepping in out of the night, brushing fat flakes of snow off his coat.  He towers over most of the crowd, exuding importance with his sharply tailored suit and his striking good looks.  He smiles at the hostess as she takes his coat, and it flashes so bright, you’re sure that half the bar has turned to stare.  You can barely tear your eyes away, yourself. He’s about the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and he’s making his way toward the bar. You’re a little disappointed when he takes a seat far at the other end, but you don’t let it show. You catch the bartender in a double-take before she hurries away to serve him, all giggles and smiles. You turn back to your associate after one last eyeful of the newcomer, less interested than ever.

               He keeps talking, you keep drinking, and your gaze keeps wandering over to the stunner across the bar, flirting animatedly with the enchanted bartender. Eventually, he catches you looking, and your eyes meet for an electric second before he grins and looks back at the bartender. Your chest flushes hot, and when the associate tells you, “Don’t go away, gorgeous, I’ll be right back,” and gets up off his barstool to visit the restroom, you feel nothing so much as relief. You glance across the bar again, and this time, the bartender is gone and the stunner is looking right at you.

               He doesn’t stand up so much as unfurls, all long limbs and broad shoulders, and you can’t help yourself smiling as he starts to approach you and you turn your head coyly away. Then he’s standing at the bar right next to you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, and you feel like the air around you is suddenly charged with static. You can’t resist glancing up at him, and when you do, you find him staring.  “Hey there,” he says, his voice deep and rich, his smile practically lethal.

               “Hey, yourself,” you reply, unable to keep yourself from returning his smile.

               “You waiting for someone?” he asks, nodding toward the stool your associate has recently vacated.

               “Not anymore,” you say slyly, earning a chuckle in response. “Care to join me?”

               “Absolutely,” he answers, and slides into the seat. “Thank you.”

               There’s a moment of silence between you as you take a deep breath to quiet the nerves that are suddenly making your stomach flutter. He looks a little at a loss as well, until he takes a deep breath and speaks again. “I’m Sam,” he says, and holds out his hand for you.

               “(Y/N),” you say, smiling and pressing your hand into his, watching as your fingers disappear into his cool, firm grip.

               “What are you drinking, (Y/N)?” Sam asks. 

               “Martini,” you answer, tipping the last of your cocktail back into your mouth. Sam waves a hand at the bartender, who drops what she’s doing and hurries over.

               “Another scotch on the rocks,” he says, “and another martini for my beautiful friend here.” The bartender, looking just a tad deflated, gets to work on your drinks.

               “Friends already?” you ask, and Sam laughs.

               “Doesn’t hurt to be optimistic,” he replies, this time earning a laugh from you. “Do you come here often?” he asks, as your drinks appear on the bar in front of you, and he casually slides a credit card over in exchange.

               You take a sip of your drink, this one slipping down more smoothly than the last. “Do I come here often? Really?” you say, laughing, as Sam grins sheepishly. “No, not at all,” you admit, despite his egregious cliché.  “I’m just in town for the night.”

               “How’s that for a coincidence,” he says, nodding. “I am, too.  Here on business.”

               “Business,” you repeat, bemused. “Just what I need, another businessman.”

               Sam is about to object, but your associate buddy chooses this exact moment to return to his now-occupied seat. He walks up to the two of you and squares himself up, getting as far as “Excuse me,” before Sam shoots him a genuinely frightening glare, and he hurries away, never to be seen again.

               “If you’re talking about that guy,” Sam says, “then there’s no need to worry. I am nothing like that guy,”

               “I’m not worried in the slightest,” you say, with a flirtatious grin.  He smiles back, all dancing eyes and dimples, and you both take another drink.

               “So is it business, or pleasure?” he asks when you’ve set your glasses down. “Your visit, I mean.”

               “Oh, strictly business,” you answer playfully, and you’re really starting to feel the gin now. “Though I suppose there’s nothing wrong with fitting in a little pleasure, too.”

               “Why stop at a little?” he says, smirking briefly and swirling his scotch around a rocks glass that looks comically small in his hand.  He stares down at the glass for a moment, and when he looks up again, the easy, open smile on his face is replaced by something else entirely. Decision.

               “Listen,” he says softly, leaning in close to your ear and letting his fingertips rest lightly on your bare knee, “I would love to sit here and get to know you all night, but I’ve got a very early morning tomorrow, and I really need to be getting to bed.”  You start to speak, but he cuts you off, reaching into his suit pocket and sliding a white key card across the bar to you with two fingers. “I’m in Suite A in the penthouse,” he says, “if you feel inclined to join me.”

               You stare for a moment, deliberation on your face, and then you pick up the key card and slip it into your evening bag.  Sam flashes you another killer smile, and his fingers slide a short way up your leg, briefly squeezing your thigh. “Good,” he says, picking up his credit card and tucking it into his jacket. “I’ll be waiting.” Then he’s up and moving, retrieving his coat and disappearing down the escalator to the lobby, looking back at you briefly, grinning, cocky.

               You turn back to your martini, and nurse it for as long as you can stand, thrilled at the thought of Sam waiting for you up in his room.  Your resolve lasts an endless fifteen minutes, and then your heels are clicking almost at a sprint across the lobby from the escalator to the elevators.  The car takes approximately two millennia to reach the ground floor, and when the doors chime open, you step inside with your heartbeat racing in your ears.

               Just as the doors begin to close, an older couple steps in after you, and you spend the first ten floors staring anxiously at the numbers as they lit up above the doors, trying your best to appear bored as your body thrums with anticipation.  When they finally leave you alone, you quickly use the elevator’s mirrored wall to adjust your skirt and reposition your bra and fluff your hair with your fingers, your ears popping as the elevator climbs.  You’ve got just enough time for a quick spritz of Binaca before the car slows to a smooth stop.  You take a deep breath as the doors open, and step out of the elevator, aiming for confidence as you walk toward the door marked, “A”.

               You stand in front of the door for a minute or two, just playing with the key card in your hand, imagining Sam right on the other side, and smiling to yourself.  Then you slide the card into the reader, and the door clicks open, and you walk into the suite.

               Sam’s sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, shoes and jacket set aside, tie loosened, remote control in his hand.  He looks over at you and smiles, as you close the door behind you and turn the deadbolt.  “You found me,” he says.

               “I did,” you agree, not stepping any further inside, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. “I thought you said you were going to bed,” you add.

               He stands up from the sofa and clicks the big flat screen television off.  “On my way,” he replies.  “I was just waiting for you.”

               “Pretty confident, then?” you say, as he walks casually over to you.  He gets within reaching distance, but he only stops and stands there.  One side of his mouth curls up in a smile.

               “Was I wrong?” he asks softly, ducking his head down, so that you’re eye to eye and breathing the same air.

               You shake your head without breaking eye contact, letting your lower lip pout out a little, daring him to kiss you.  He notices, his glance slipping down from your eyes to your mouth, and then he takes the dare, catching your pout between his lips.  It’s soft, and gentle, and he doesn’t deepen the kiss or even move at all until you do, until you open up to let him in, and even then, his tongue barely slides along your lip before he takes it back again.  All the hurry to get here, and now he wants to take it slow.

               He pulls away too soon.  “I should probably tell you,” he nearly whispers, and you almost don’t hear him, because you can still feel his breath on your lips.  “I have a girlfriend . . . I love my girlfriend.”  He looks back up into your eyes, waiting for your reaction. 

               “I love my boyfriend,” you answer, with a soft smile and a tiny shrug. “So, this is just tonight.”

               “Just tonight,” he repeats, returning your smile.  “Better make it good, then.”

               You reach up and start to pull at the knot in his tie, loosening it further until it’s undone altogether, and he keeps still while you pull one end until it comes away from his collar.  You hold it up to him, smirking. “I will if you will.”

               He grins, and then his fingers clamp around your wrist, and you drop the tie in surprise.  He pulls you in close to him, and this time when he kisses you, it’s hard and fast and literally takes your breath away.  The hand not holding your wrist runs down your back, pausing where the curve of your ass begins, before finding the zipper on your skirt and pulling it down.  You twist your hand out of his grip, and start on the buttons of his dress shirt, popping them open one at a time as he tugs your skirt down over your hips, and you wiggle out of it.  Then he runs his fingers up under the filmy satin of your blouse, slipping it off over your head.  He pulls out of the kiss at last, and takes a step back to look at you while he takes over ridding himself of his shirt.  “God, you look hot,” he says, and it’s almost more breath than voice.

               You bite back the smirk that’s curling up the corners of your mouth, now especially pleased with your decision to wear a brand new set of red lace lingerie to the bar tonight.  It isn’t the kind of thing you would usually wear, but then, nothing about this night was your usual.  That was the whole point.  “You said something about going to bed?” you say, and he grins, and he lets his shirt fall from his arms to the floor, immediately starting to unbuckle his belt. 

               “Right this way,” he says, pulling his belt out of its loops and letting it drop, and then raising his arm to point the way to the bedroom.  You start to step out of your shoes, until he says, “Leave them,” and you raise your eyebrows questioningly, but you acquiesce and keep the heels on, continuing down the short hallway to the plushly-pillowed king-sized bed.  He catches you by the wrist again just before you reach the bed, and he pulls you back into another embrace.  He’s lost his t-shirt somewhere between the door and the bedroom, and the strong grip of his arms presses you tight against his chest.  Then he’s raking both hands into your hair, holding your face and kissing you senseless again.  He walks you to the bed, letting you go when your legs hit mattress, and you sit on the edge.

               You reach behind you to unclasp your bra as he starts on the buttons of his dress pants, but he stops you again. “Can you leave those, too?” he asks, smiling almost sheepishly, and you laugh a little.

               “If you like,” you agree, moving your hands from the back of your bra to the front of his pants.  “Let me help you with these, instead.”  He lets you pull his trousers down over his hips, and he steps out of them when they pool around his ankles, stopping to take off his socks, and then it’s just his boxer-briefs, and his stiff, straining cock beneath them.  You grin up at him, and he looks down at you, and he’s biting his lip in anticipation.  You lean in and nuzzle him over his shorts, the fabric stretched thin around him, and he places his hands on the top of your head with a heavy sigh.  Then you curl your fingers under the waistband and pull, and he gives another sigh, this time of relief, as his cock falls free.  You immediately catch his head in your lips, wrapping them wet and soft around him, and he lets out a low moan. 

               He gasps when you press your tongue against the underside of his head. “That’s so good, babe,” he whispers quickly, and he starts to pump his hips a little, and to push your head a little, trying to reach deeper down your throat.  You let him fuck your mouth as long as you can hold your breath, and when you finally pull back, gasping for air, he takes the opportunity to push you back onto the mattress, and crawl over top of you.  He scoops a hand beneath your back and picks you up like you weigh nothing, positioning you both in the middle of the bed.  Then, right away, he’s moving down your body, hands palming your breasts before he puts his face in between them, sucking gently at the skin there.  Your nipples are hard, and Sam moves to mouth one over the lace of your bra, while pinching and pulling at the other with his fingers.  You start to squirm a little bit, and your breath starts to exhale in little whining whimpers, and he smiles up at you before crawling further down your body, until he’s square between your thighs, and he’s dipping down to give you the same nuzzling greeting you gave him.

               First he just runs his nose right up the seam of your panties, the almost-transparent lace soaked through already with your arousal.  He presses in a little harder when he’s over your clit, and you moan, and then his nose is replaced with his tongue, and then his whole mouth, as he sucks you through the fabric.  Then his fingers are pushing the panties aside to press inside you, and he takes his lips off your mound for just a moment to tell you, half-smiling, “You are really fucking wet right now.”

               You’re pumping your hips against him, grinding yourself against his face, fucking yourself onto his fingers.  “So fuck me,” you say, a little like you’re begging, a little like you’re ordering, and he works you just a little deeper into your frenzy before he pulls his mouth and his fingers away, full-on grinning now, and crawls back up over top of you.

               He kisses you, tongue swirling deep inside your mouth, while he grinds his cock against your slit, still covered in a film of lace.  “Sam, please,” you whisper when he lets you up for air, and he reaches down to pull the panties aside again and line his cock up with your opening, and then he swivels his hips and pushes himself into you, deliciously filling you, stretching you.   You moan and arch up into him, and he presses down onto you with his pubic bone, and the pressure on your clit sparks through you like a current.  The two of you fall into a slow, perfect rhythm, and he nips tiny bruises into your shoulders as he drags his pelvis against you with each thrust, inching you closer to orgasm with every pass.  Your thighs start to tremble, and he gives it to you that little bit harder, and then your vision goes white, and for just a split second it’s like you’re floating.  Then your contractions start to squeeze around his cock, and you both freeze in place while he rides it out with you, watching your face.

               He starts to pump again when he sees you’re coming down, at an easy pace, smiling down at you as you come back to awareness. “Hi, handsome,” you say, grinning, giddy. 

               “Hello, beautiful,” he answers, then he kisses you.  “Think you could do something for me?”

               You nod up at him, fairly certain in that moment that there’s nothing he could ask that you wouldn’t give him.  “Get up on your hands and knees for me?” he asks, and you have no objection to the idea.

               “Sure,” you say, and he gets up off you, and you particularly feel the absence of his cock when it slides out of you.  You roll over, and get up on all fours, and peek back at Sam, kneeling behind you and watching you with his jaw slack, one fist slowly pumping up and down the length of his cock.   You wiggle your ass a little in front of him, and he lets go of his shaft to rub both his hands over it, fingertips squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. 

               “These panties are so hot on you, (Y/N,)” he says, fingers continuing to knead at your ass as you lean back against him, thumb just barely pressing in against your asshole.

               You gasp, then giggle. “You said that already,” you say.  “I heard you the first time.”

               “Just making sure you remember,” he says, and then you feel the front of his thighs shore up against the back of yours, and he’s pulling away the panties, and you feel your pussy yielding to his cock again.  You push back against him, and he pumps into you again, and soon he’s fucking you hard enough to make you squeal, until you’re just about biting the 500-thread-count pillowcase beneath you.  Then he reaches beneath you, and grabs one of your hands, and presses your fingers against your clit, over your soaked panties.  “Rub it,” he says hoarsely. “Come again before I finish.”

               You do as he says, pressing quick circles around your clit while he keeps pounding you from behind, and it’s no time before your thighs are trembling with the beginnings of another orgasm.  You cry out, and Sam whispers, “Yeah, baby,” and “come for me” and when you start to clench around him again, he slams into you, hard, another five or six times before he grabs your hips and falters in his rhythm and he grunts loudly as he starts to come, himself.  He holds you there a long time before he pulls out, and when he does, the two of you collapse onto the bed, lying side by side on your backs.

               It takes ten solid minutes for you to completely catch your breath, and when you look over at Sam, he’s grinning ear to ear, and you start to giggle.  Then he looks at you, and he starts laughing, too.  “I hope that’s a good laugh,” he says, rolling onto his side to face you.

               “Yes,” you say, smiling so helplessly that your cheeks ache. “It’s a very good laugh.”

               He rests his hand on your belly, brushing his thumb absently back and forth against your skin.  “Was that what you had in mind?” he asks.

               “Better,” you say, “You were perfect,” you lift your head to give him a kiss.  “And Sam, this room is incredible.”

               He’s doing nothing short of beaming. “Surprise,” he says, with a little shrug. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

               “Happy Valentine’s Day,” you repeat, and then he’s kissing you again, and throwing his leg over yours, and his hand runs up from your belly to your breast.  In no time, your hips start to writhe in response again.

               He breaks out of the kiss for a moment, not bothering to stop himself grinding against your thigh, stiffness already returning to his cock. “Did you happen to notice there’s a Jacuzzi over there?” he asks in a whisper, and when you shake your head, grinning, he adds, “Want to go try it out?”

               You’re up out of the bed in a second, finally peeling off your bra and sex-soaked panties, kicking off one of your shoes (the other having been lost somewhere in the bedding), and then bounding naked and unconcerned to the large French doors separating the bedroom from the en-suite bathroom.  “Aren’t you coming?” you say to Sam, who is still lying on the bed, watching you, bemused.

               He stares a moment longer, then he sits up and shifts to the edge of the bed. “Try and stop me,” he says, rising tall and erect, and following you into the bathroom.


End file.
